


Broken In

by themegalosaurus



Series: Marks Made [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-09-07 02:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: Better than sending flowers





	Broken In

**Author's Note:**

> One of three Sam ship Valentine's fics I wrote this year: the others are also on here and are Sam/Rowena and Sam/Max. All three were originally posted to my Tumblr!

She’s on a late shift and it’s almost midnight by the time she gets home, juggling her handbag and her Chinese takeout and her keys. She’s so busy trying not to spill soy sauce on her good white work shirt that she doesn’t notice the guy crouching outside her apartment until she’s almost on top of him. Focused on whatever he’s doing with her lock, he doesn’t notice her either; until,

“Hey!” she says. “What do you think you’re–” and then, as he unfolds himself upward, “Sam?”

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I was, um. Just leaving.”

“Well, don’t do that.” She puts the takeout on the floor, the better to grapple the keys from the depths of her bag, where they’re tangled up in her headphones and her iPhone cable and what feels like three weeks’ worth of tissues. “What were you, uh–?”

“Oh,” says Sam. She looks up to see his throat flush slowly, definitely pink. Merciless, she raises an eyebrow and waits.

“Well,” he says, flustered. (She loves him flustered.) “We were. I was just. We were. Um. Dean and I were in Nebraska, so. And he went out, he always goes out on Valentine’s. Unattached drifter Christmas, he says.”

“Charming.”

Sam takes a breath, ploughs on. “Anyway. It was only one state over, and I thought. But you were out and then I was, your neighbour let me into the building and I, uh. But I suddenly realised you were probably out on a date.” He rubs a big hand over the back of his neck.

She narrows her eyes. “I missed the part where you were trying to pick the lock on my door.”

He looks down at her in such obvious agony that she relents and hands him the keys. “Here you go. The silver one with the square top. And no comment on the keyrings, please.”

He stoops as he opens the door, groping toward the mat; but she’s too quick for him, snatching the red envelope from between his fingers. “This is for me, I think.”

“Cara,” he says, half-smiling, half-anxious, and she steps back out of his reach as she tears it open.

It’s a cheap thing, flimsy. He probably picked it up in a gas station. The picture is a bunch of roses, lurid red, textured with glitter. Underneath, in a curlicued font: ‘Be mine, Valentine.’

She flips to the inside.

“Don’t be mine!” says a familiar scrawl. “Be your own. You’re amazing.” Then hurried, uneven at the bottom of the page, “(But be mine sometimes. Sorry I missed you. I miss you. Sam.)”

“Hey,” she says, soft now, and looks up to find him watching her, his forehead furrowed. “Hey,” she says again, and steps forward to kiss him.

(“Sorry about the attempted breaking and entering,” Sam says later. “I just had these visions of you getting home with some guy and being embarrassed to find it on the mat.”

Cara tries to lift herself upward where she’s hanging half-off her bed; feels the muscles strain in her stomach and gives up. She flops back instead to gaze upside-down into her full-length mirror; sees her own face, flushed and dishevelled, and Sam on the bed, crouching over her panther-strong.

“You break and enter all you like,” she says, breathless, and Sam surprises her by breaking into a laugh.

“That’s what she said.”

She laughs, too, cut short by the soft jolt of pleasure as he slides inside her.)


End file.
